The Science of
by Klaudee
Summary: Scarf, tea, Mycroft, pepper spray, chemicals and failed test can change your life. Trust me, the girl would know.
1. Tying a Scarf

How did I even get a job here, she thought on her way to the coffee shop where she worked second week already. She didn't have any previous experiences, so she was over the moon when the manager told her she has it.

At least the nice morning cheered her up a bit, tucking her umbrella under her arm with a sense of satisfaction that it isn't going to rain. Her steps were swift, she didn't want to be late. She listened contentedly to the sound of streets having decided long ago that blasting music into her ears makes her unaware of the surroundings and slows her reactions. And she got bored with the songs too fast. Probably because she was too lazy to change them from time to time or to find any new.

The weather was nice, so they didn't have as much customers as usual. She noticed that most of the chairs in the room were empty, making her jealous that she now has to stand on her feet for few hours straight. Only few of the most regular customers devoted to this place were sipping their coffee and tea, reading quietly newspapers.

She stood behind the counter arranging muffins and cakes, stealing a glance at one chocolate in particular. It was her favourite one. Chocolate enough to satisfy the needs of a chocoholic but light and fresh enough to not to make you feel pregnant. Whatever you need in the right moment, the cake gives to you. It's heaven in mouth.

Bored out of her mind, having no customers to serve, she took her phone laying not far away from her next to jar of biscuits in her hands and checked the time even though the ticking of clock on the right wall loud enough to hear even in her place. She fiddled with everything that came under her hands, trying to make it look like she was working.

She turned around in her spot, her eyes catching her reflection in the pieces of shattered mirror. The owner believed that it served for artistic purposes only, though it wasn't true. You know those days that you feel like you don't want to have a face? This one was like that for her. She felt like a potato. Big bloated face with small pig-like eyes. Gosh. She wasn't going to say that the only thing that she likes about herself are her eyes. She read way too many stories to not to make it sound cringe-worthy.

In the middle of her pulling and tugging her face with her fingers, she did that when she was bored, someone cleared their throat behind her. She spun around, wide-eyed at who was standing there. Upon seeing him, she immediately got nervous.

He looked good.

And odd. Definitely an expensive suit, long dark coat, pale blue shirt that was tight across his torso, nearly the same colour as his eyes. Dark curls nearing black were falling in his forehead. She was pleasantly surprised that he didn't have a scowl or an expression of disgust on his face. He was smiling nicely, but the corner of his mouth were pulled too tightly, giving her an impression that he was just faking it.

"Hello. What would you like?" She asked hurriedly, hiding her phone behind the coffee machine, smoothing down my apron. She didn't want him to have an impression that she was just messing around.

"Have you seen a man here with around 5'6, light brown hair, brown eyes with purple sweater?"He asked, his eyes fully trained on my face, voice a bit rushed. His breath was slightly accelerated, his cheeks a bit pink. She widened my eyes a bit at his question.

His eyes trained on my face, he scowled, displeased at what he saw.

He added in a deep voice. "He is a regular customer. He comes here around this time." He leaned a bit forward, his body leaning over the counter, almost falling behind it. His pale blue eyes were still on her. She felt blush creeping up on her cheeks.

Barely a second later, he returned to standing and looked around. "Don't bother trying to recall him. You obviously don't know who he is." He said absentminded and his eyes sweeping the place, his expression changing in an instant after finding out he won't get the answer he searched for. He looked lost in thoughts, almost frozen in place.

A bell above the door rang and a scratchy voice said, "What are you doing here?" The curly-haired man turned around immediately, with a smirk on his face though his eyes were narrowed a bit .She turned around as well, curious.

The man who stood in the doorway with one hand on the knob fit perfectly the description provided earlier. Except I would have said that his sweater was more of a dark blue or dark plum colour, but not purple. He had an exasperated expression on his face.

She recognized him. He was a doctor and liked to visit this place from time to time. He didn't belong to the most regular customers around here, but then again. She was here just for two weeks, how could she know.

"Give it back, John." The man said in an authoritative voice, his back straightening.

John tilted his head a bit stepping a closer to the man, his brown eyes confused. "Give back what?"

"You know exactly what." He answered a bit irritated. Upon seeing John's face, he snapped at him. "The scarf!" He threw his hand in the air in a sign of being annoyed.

John had a look of realization on his face. That's when she noticed the blue scarf wrapped tightly around his throat. So this whole ordeal was about a scarf?

"I took it this morning because my throat is a bit sore." He explained. "And YOU destroyed all of mine in that recent stupid experiment of yours, Sherlock. Don't think I forgot that one." He said in accusatory tone, pointing a finger in man's face, John's the previous confused expression replaced by an irritated one.

The man looked taken back a bit at John's outburst. "It was not stupid. It was for a scientific purposes." He defended himself.

"Scientific purposes my arse." John bit back and put his hand on his hips, scoffing. "Now I have to wear a scarf for medical purposes."

"John, you are acting irrational." Sherlock said. "The experiment was based solely on science. Ask Molly." He offered with a wave of his hand, as is she were to pop out from the floor.

"Molly helped you?" John shook his head and laughed silently.

"Laugh all you want John. You will thank me next time someone will try to choke you with your scarf but they won't be able to thanks to a mathematically proved way of tying it." Sherlock announced. He looked smug with a smile on his face.

"No I won't if I do it first to you." John said, silently fuming.

He then turned to her. "He didn't cause a scene did he? If he did I'm sorry." He said, his tone a lot softer. She shook her head, smiling.

"It's fine. He didn't do anything." She said and John exhaled happily.

"Why do you think I have caused a scene?" Asked Sherlock offended, his eyebrows furrowed.

John sighed and rubbed his eyes. "Sherlock, I know you. You cause a scene every single time." He said running a hand across his face tiredly.

"I have to object. That opinion of yours is completely biased." He said, affronted, a shocked expression on his face. Why would he cause a scene?

"God, not again." John released a breath defeated. Sherlock opened his mouth to say something but John held up his finger in a warning to stay quiet.

"Can I get my usual, please?" He asked her, the girl nodding and quickly setting to work. "And could you add some sugar this time? I feel like a need some today." After his comment, Sherlock frowned, his eyes focused on John's face and then on the girl on the counter. "So you do know him." He said.

"Yes." She said in a small voice.

"Unbelievable. Idiots." He grumbled to himself, his attention returning to the doctor. John was leaning against the counter with his hip, his arms crossed on his chest, his lips pursed.

After a short while, he said flatly: "I see no logical reason why you should be angry at me for 'ruining' those scarves." John rolled his eyes and muttered something under his breath.

"Back to why I came here, give it back." Sherlock said, stretching his hand in front of himself, with a stoic face. The girl's and John's eyes met, sharing a quiet understanding.

"I have a 5 year old brother." She said with a quiet laugh.

"I have a 32 year old flat mate." He said and handed her money for the tea. She wrapped it in a brown bag and threw in some biscuits in wraps.

"Keep the change." John said to her, turning around with a bag in his hand. He stopped abruptly at seeing Sherlock's hand in front of him that was stopping him to go any further.

"I'm not going to repeat myself." Sherlock said, his cheeks no longer slightly pink, but pale colour just like the rest of his face. She was sure that he was lighter than white walls.

John huffed but with an amused expression on his face.. "And I'm not going to give it back to you." Sherlock widened his eyes a bit at John's. "Why do you need it so much anyway?" He asked, frowning.

"Because it's mi... I need it!" He exclaimed throwing his hands in the air.

"Hmm.." John mused. " I would have thought that you meant to say 'It's mine'." He coughed then, his hand free of hot tea went to his scarf covered throat.

"Sherlock, I am sick. You are not. Now deduce who needs it more." He arched an eyebrow at him, turned on his heel and headed to the door.

After not hearing any footsteps following him, he turned his head seeing Sherlock with a scowl on his face, looking angry.

John sighed, walked up to him, hand searching the paper bag for something. When he came to him, he said: " Here, have a dark blue biscuit. It's vanilla one, I think." John frowned at the wrap, trying to see if he was right..

"Have one and be a good boy. You can have the scarf after you'll get me a new one." He then proceeded to put the vanilla biscuit in Sherlock's breast pocket in his coat. He patted in a playful way, smiled at the girl, said his goodbye and walked out from the shop.

She could see him grabbing another biscuit from the bag, tearing in open and stuffing it into his mouth. Having not forgotten Sherlock's presence in the shop, she looked at him.

He had the biscuit in his hands, an expression of utter disgust on his face.

He then turned his eyes to see her watching. She was once again mesmerized by his sharp cheekbones, carved lips and pale eyes.

"It's royal blue." He spat out, throwing the biscuit on the counter. "And I don't even like vanilla." He said and marched to the door.

Having the luck not toppling the biscuit jar over and spilling it's content's all over the floor, she managed to snag biscuit in a flower shape covered in red wrap.

"Hey!" She called after him. Sherlock stopped few feet away from the door, his hand already reaching to grasp the door handle. He stopped and looked at her, his eyebrows raised.

She threw the biscuit in his direction and he caught it easily mid-air. He looked closer at the wrap, studying what it said.

"It's ginger one." She said. "And it's really good. Maybe you'll like it." She suggested, shrugging her shoulders.

Sherlock let a tiny smile flicker across his face. "I suppose I could like it." His voice was still ringing in her ears after his dark coat disappeared behind the corner.

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* * *

Hi!

:) It's my first Sherlock fanfiction. I keep trying to improve my writing, so I hope it is readable. I was wondering if I should make it just a one-shot or maybe write a few more. So if you are interested in reading more, let me know. If you like it or even if you don't, please leave a review.

Thank You for reading.

Klaudia

P.S.: How do you tie your scarf?

(The picture doesn't belong to me. The proud ownder of 'Cold John' is bluepen115.)


	2. Knowing Your Tea

Ever since she met them, well if that could be called meeting someone in a proper way, John and Sherlock visited her in the coffee shop quite a few times. Especially the next few days after the first visit, because John still had a sore throat. Sometimes he was alone, sometimes with Sherlock. Most of the time it was only John that talked. The 'idiot' fiasco when she couldn't remember that she has seen the doctor probably still lingered in the detective's mind.

Yes. She knew that he was a detective. They one mentioned solving a case so she naturally asked about it. Sherlock rolled his eyes and sighed in a rather obnoxious way before telling her that he was the only consulting detective in the world and that he invented the job. After hearing the tone in which he said it, she didn't even dare to ask him what the 'consulting' part was about.

She couldn't say that they were friends. No, they were not. Maybe an acquaintances. But nothing else. The polite words they have exchanged while they waited for her to finish the tea were mostly without any importance or familiarity.

There for she was really confused when she got a text with a suspiciously familiar initials at the end.

Bring tea to 221B Baker Street.

SH

.

im working now. cant b

.

Then bring it after work.

SH

.

which kind b

.

Lapsang souchong. Don't over-brew it.

SH

.

is it a dog breed b

.

Your ignorance of tea flavours is astounding.

Why did they even let you work there?

Make it ginger tea, then.

SH

.

ok. be there at 4 b

.

Would writing with punctuation and capital letters kill you?

My eyes hurt from reading it.

SH

.

no. its too hard. how did get my number anyway b

.

That is of none importance.

Bring those biscuits as well.

SH

.

She waved to Cara, her co-worker as she closed the door after her clumsily, just with one hand. In the other she had cup of freshly brewed ginger tea ready for Sherlock. After those texts she wondered what in the world made her agree to bring him tea. But it was a meaningless question really. She looked forward to them every day and was disappointed when they didn't come today. She was quite fascinated with them both, not just Sherlock.

Thankfully, the address he gave her was about 5 to 10 minutes from her home, making it easier to justify her decision.

The golden letters shone on the dark door as she stood before it. She was quite nervous, clutching the still hot cup in her hands. After a few seconds staring at the knocker, she raised her hand and knocked a few times with it.

She didn't hear any footsteps coming closer. She was scared to knock any louder, so she waited patiently, hoping someone heard it.

Her wishes became true when an old lady opened the door. "Oh hello." She said, apparently surprised to see her on the doorstep. "Are you here for Sherlock?" She asked.

The girl cleared her throat, and lifted the cup in the air between them. "No.. Well yes I am. I brought him tea." She said.

The lady stepped aside, motioning with her hand for the girl to come in. "I'm Ms Hudson. The housekeeper. He's upstairs." She said in a hushed tone.

"He has been exceptionally unpleasant today. He always acts like a small child when he is sick." She complained, putting her hands in a prayer like position.

"May I go upstairs then?" She asked. She wanted to get rid of that hot cup as soon as possible. And she couldn't take long, because her parents would worry and definitely would want an explanation to where she was. And she truly didn't need that.

"Are you sure you want to go there alone?" Ms Hudson asked concerned, her eyes glancing at the staircase. "Such a little thing as you. He is really not nice today." It was nice, really, the concern. But she didn't know where that little thing came from. She was at least 5 or 6 inches taller than her, even taller by a bit than John.

She shook her head. "Thanks, but I think I'll be just fine. Upstairs is it?" She asked, her feet already on the first stairs.

Ms Hudson nodded, sighed and went to her flat shaking her head.

The girl knocked on the open door to the flat, before entering. She looked around, her eyes jumping from one place to another.

"There you are." Said a deep voice from her left side. "Took you long enough." Sherlock commented.

The girl turned around and saw him sitting behind a table, his eyes lost to the wonders of a microscope. He sat in a kitchen, well, she thought it was a kitchen. It looked more like a mini lab, with different vials and beakers all around the place.

"I'm not late." She protested weakly, adjusting the bag on her shoulders. "Where can I put the tea?" She asked.

Sherlock squeezed his eyes and shook his head a bit. He stretched his hand, finally looking at her. She stopped in her movements, if she were moving at all before and stood there.

After the shortest moments of short moments as his eyes looked her up and down, he stood up walking towards her. "Obvious." He said quietly, probably just to himself.

She handed him the cup and started searching the bad for the biscuits. "I don't have a lot of those biscuits you asked me for. You know, people actually"

"I don't care." He said, interrupting her rudely, sipping on his tea.

She stopped searching for the biscuits and withdrew her hand from her bag. She was a tiny bit insulted.

"How did you get my number?" She asked.

Sherlock sat down on a grey armchair with a huff, letting her stand in the middle of the room. "From your phone." He said.

"I don't remember giving you my phone." She said, her hand subconsciously creeping to the pocket of her bag, where she put it.

"You left it on the counter. You were making tea, John wasn't looking so I saw the opportunity." He said, shrugging his shoulders, the tight material of the shirt he was wearing reaching its limits. "Who does save their number as 'Aaaa' in their contacts?" He asked with furrowed brows, taking a sip from the tea.

"Well I do." She admitted, seeing no problem with it. She couldn't' remember her number when she got it, so she solved it by saving it as the first number to pop up on the contacts.

"Stupid." He said under his breath. "And what was that 'b' supposed to mean?"

"It's Bryony. My name." She said, crossing her arms on her chest. She was starting to feel silly and ridiculed. But she knew what she was getting into. Ms Hudson gave her a fair warning.

"That's a stupid name. Who would give their child a name like that?" He asked rubbing his eyes with his hands.

"You're the one to talk." She muttered under her breath, her mind almost set on leaving but she saw how Sherlock put his head in his hands. Just then she noticed the pale waxy shade of his skin and the pink tinge on his cheeks. Ms Hudson did say that he was sick.

"Hey, are you alright?" She asked him, a bit concerned, stepping closer to him.

He waved his hand at her upon hearing her footsteps. She dodged it and crouched next to him, not giving a thought to any personal space boundaries he could have and put a hand on his forehead.

"Sherlock, you are burning up!" She exclaimed looking at him worriedly.

"I noticed." Came his sarcastic remark, but he still continued sitting in the chair. Well that was about to change.

After few minutes, Sherlock found himself laying on the sofa, covered with a blanket. Oddly enough to Bryony, he didn't even protest. After putting down her bag, she went to the kitchen to hunt for a cloth to soak in cold water.

"My God, Sherlock. What are you doing?" She recognized the voice as John's.

She went to the room with a dripping cloth in her hands. "He's sick."

John looked at her, taken back by her presence. He looked at Sherlock, then back at her, but didn't ask any questions.

"Hi." He greeted her and she waved at him shyly in return. Bryony went to Sherlock and put the cloth in his hands. It felt weird to her, taking care of a virtually strange man, but not as weird as she would have thought.

"You never get sick." John said, hiding the amusement in his voice poorly.

"I don't." Came back Sherlock's reply. "But you sneezed at me when you were." He sneered at him and slapped the cloth on his forehead, droplets of water flying all around him.

John couldn't help himself but laugh out loud openly. Sherlock looked at him through narrowed eyes. "You find this funny?" He asked incredulously.

A phone started ringing in the room. Bryony widened her eyes and ran to her bag. She cursed quietly when she saw a missed call from her mom. She picked up the bag, her sweater and went to the door.

"I have to go. Have a nice day." She said, until her back hit the wall behind her.

"You too." Said John smiling at her.

When she touched the first step of staircase, she shouted. "You're welcome Sherlock." All she heard in return was a grunt. Well, even that was something.

When she was at the door, Ms Hudson nowhere in sight, she heard a sneeze and John's loud laugh.

Sherlock sneezed and she couldn't help herself, but to laugh as well as she shut the door behind her.

.

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* * *

Hi!

:) Well, I decided to make this longer.

I was, and still am, a bit apprehensive of this idea that I am writing. I'm not sure if you will like it. The girl, Bryony is too young to be Sherlock's love interest. Is too boring and shy to be really cool. And lives a mundane life, so she doesn't have any 'grave secret' or 'dark past hunting her'. I wanted to write a story about a girl, that is normal like us behind the computer screen meeting someone so extraordinary as Sherlock and to see how her life will change after that.

A big thanks goes to cathernatural.812 for giving me a 'green' in writing this :)

So, let me know if you are interested in reading more, if you like it, hate it. Thanks a lot.

Klaudia


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